


In Bleak November

by trashpocket



Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [2]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: A whole lot of kissing, AU, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, BalletDancer!Lalli, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay, Kissing, Love, M/M, Modern AU, No Beta, Painter!Emil, Sweet, Theater Nerds, We Die Like Men, and dancing, gay boys, okay, supportive boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25522819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/pseuds/trashpocket
Summary: Lalli would steal the light of the moon, and toss the sea into the endlessness of space, if he could just have Emil there forever, being his rock and his gravity. And Lalli knew well enough, that Emil thought of him as much, in the same conviction. They worked that way, like tides that pushed and pulled to the shore, tethered in the mere motion of the world, forever changing, forever not.--------------Or, a Modern AU in which:Lalli Hotakainen is a ballet dancer, and Emil Vastertsrom is one supportive painter.
Relationships: Lalli Hotakainen & Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström
Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835107
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	In Bleak November

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livia_1291](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_1291/gifts).



> This work is a gift to the lovely, supportive, amazing, and SUPER DUPER sweet @livia_1291!
> 
> Winter City spoke to me, and told me: "just go ahead and write it" AND I DELIVERED
> 
> I took my liberties with ballet and the Bolshoi Theater, as well as whatever is in Moscow, cause like, I have never been to any of those places in my life. Everything is sort of obscure. and i don't have a beta, so sorry for the grammar error or spellings
> 
> But the Ballet I referenced is "Giselle", played by the Royal Danish Ballet (2016), with the leads: Ida Praetorius, and Andreas Kaas. It is such a lovely Ballet, and I recommend to watch!

Emil Västerström hardly knew anything about ballet. He wasn’t very well acquainted with the art form and its complexities, unlike Lalli Hotakainen, who practically lived through it most of his life. Lalli dedicated nearly all of his time and effort into ballet; pushed himself with his strength, his flexibility, and his endurance. He beat himself up whenever he traveled too much in his fouettés when he didn’t mean to. He made sure that his arms were never pointed down, and that his core strength and his leg muscles were strong, so the momentum of his point foot wouldn’t unbalance him. Emil knew the amount of effort Lalli put up to keep his physique and his skills sharpened. At times, though, when Lalli pushed himself _too_ hard, that he would bust an ankle, probably chip a toe nail, or ended up not eating to get more practice—only to push himself even more, even with said injuries, Emil hardly felt that all of it was worth it if it only granted him suffering.

Ensi Hotakainen held a large mantle that couldn’t be filled by anyone else besides her kin. Her name was held high with prestige in the ballet world, from what Emil knew, or heard at least. Lalli had big pointe shoes to fill, right from the bat, and people had big expectations of him as Ensi’s grandson. And because Emil knew Lalli well, he knew that Lalli didn’t like disappointing people. _He loved to prove people wrong_.

So, even as Emil felt a bit uninterested in ballet, he would always support Lalli and his goals, even if it hurt him. He would always be the one to wake Lalli to breakfast. Would always be the one to drive him to his classes and rehearsals. Would always be the one to tell him that enough was enough. Emil would support him, because it was Lalli’s dream. Emil would support him, because he loved Lalli too much _not to do so_.

With the program of the ballet tucked away into his coat, Emil sunk further into his red seat, somewhere near the middle of the theater, that allowed a beautiful sight of the entire stage. Emil was lucky that Lalli had gotten him the seat, somewhere not too far for him to have to squint at the dancers, but also not too close to see the texture of the make-up on their faces. Tuuri was tittering excitedly to his right, and next to her, was Onni, who had the usual impassive glower on his face. A few people recognized the Hotakainens, and had tried to approach them, but one look into Onni’s face always dissuaded people from having any future attempts.

A few people recognized Emil as well. The Västerströms were a talented line of people, who produced musicians and opera singers. Emil just happened to be the first painter in their long line of history, while his little cousins were the ones holding up the mantle of musicians. His works weren’t as well known, and though sometimes it meant bad for business and finances, Emil was still faring very well. Art exhibitions were lovely, and people loved his pieces inspired by Lalli the most ( _and Emil would throw his paintings into the fire if he hated one, or wasn’t satisfied by one_ ).

“You ready to see Lalli, Emil?” Tuuri turned to him. At the thought of Lalli, Emil nearly snorted.

“If I see him in those tights again, I think I might laugh.” Tuuri had shown him what Lalli had looked like in his costume, and the quality of the photo wasn’t clear enough to show all of Lalli. Lalli had found Tuuri sneaking in a picture, and had prominently hissed and scratched at her. So, all the impression Emil got was a blurry view of Lalli’s legs in tights, and his blurry top, that was supposed to be a waistcoat. Emil had seen Lalli in tights plenty of times to even count, but it still didn’t erase the fact that he would laugh about it sometimes.

“Hm,” Tuuri mused, with a quirk of her lips. “We’ll see about that.” Her eyes danced mischievously, and Emil narrowed his own in suspicion.

“Maybe we wouldn’t have to if you just took a proper photo of Lalli,” Emil replied with a teasing grin. “You’re as sneaky as Reynir when he creeps into Onni’s room.” At this, the mentioned man spluttered, whipping his head to look at Emil so fast, he nearly resembled an owl with how he could’ve dislocated that neck. Tuuri gaped like a fish, before she spluttered for being compared to Reynir ( _or mostly because she didn’t_ need _to know who slept with her brother._ )

Emil would’ve guffawed if he weren’t in a theater. Onni’s wide eyes and red cheeks were priceless. _Stoic and glowering, his ass! This was even better!_

Onni hissed out, “H-how did you _know_? Did that idiot accidentally _talk_ about it?” Onni’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and it reminded Emil of Sigrun when she was on a hunt.

“No,” replied Emil. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him. Remember Christmas Eve? There’s a creaky floorboard in the middle of the corridor in front of Lalli’s room. _Your room_ ,” Emil pointed at Onni, with all the picture of smugness one could exude. “is right next to Lalli’s. Drunk Reynir sneaking around is as good as Reynir when he’s sober.”

At this, Tuuri giggled, and Emil giggled along with her. Onni huffed, and bit out. “Be quiet, both of you.” They giggled harder. “You’re not invited to my home anymore.” Onni declared, and Emil broke out of his giggles immediately. _Onni’s home had a great fireplace, and he cooked way better dinners than Emil could._ Emil nearly felt like crying out in despair.

Tuuri stopped her own giggling when Onni pointed at her. “You, too. Both of you.”

They sulked in their seats, and Onni savored their silence.

* * *

The lights dimmed down in the golden theater, obscuring the curtains even more, as it did everything on stage. The bumbling trio sat up in attention. With the spotlight on the Orchestra Pit, who had been tuning for the past several minutes—the musicians silenced themselves. Trond appeared, walking down to take his place by the head of the Orchestra. The Orchestra rose, as Trond walked, still quite tall and confident in his old age, and Emil joined the polite applause, until Trond finally found his spot.

The theater became quiet, as Trond turned around to face his musicians, and the prelude began with a jut of his baton, accompanied by a smooth tempo that Emil couldn’t see enough to count. When the whimsical music began to play, he let himself melt into the atmosphere it was creating; happy like a light smattering of morning rain, and wondrous like sniffling hares in the underbrush.

When the prelude ended, and the next song began with a triumphant tune, the curtains lifted, revealing quite a spectacular setting. Emil had to compliment to Taru and the rest of her crew for her spectacular directing, and with how the lighting and the setting blended together. The colors were of dark rich browns and greens, with large stones and trees in the background to sell off the idea of old civilization and simple living, all in the form of paper-mache and panels of wood for a bench. The darkness of the setting made the contrast clear, when the dancers danced from the left side of the upper stage, travelling diagonally out of sight to the lower stage. They were mostly clothed in lighter garments, making them pop out of their muted backgrounds.

But Emil was waiting for just one person. He was just waiting to finally see Lalli, and that was all he needed. He barely had any time with Lalli that morning, when he had escaped Emil’s grasp to prepare for the show. Emil understood him, but the absence only made his anticipation grow stronger.

When the character named Hilarion escaped out of sight along with Berthe, who exited into a large door by one side of the stage, a new song began, with another loud triumphant tune. Emil was startled when he saw Lalli, running gracefully to center stage, expression open and eager.

“Wow,” he heard someone behind him say, and Emil nearly nodded along, not trusting himself to find the proper words to even describe everything. Lalli wasn’t wearing anything grandeur, or overly large. He wore the simple threads of a duke (named _Albrécht_ ), dominantly shown by the rather soft looking fur coat, and the leather belt that held a long sword. But the waistcoat underneath had been made with modern liberties; the neckline was lower, meeting a large “v” near Lalli’s sternum, showing an expanse of skin that only Emil had been privy to. The waistcoat was a shade of muted brown, nearly matching his tights that were just a simple black, ending at the top of his shins.

It was overall, simple, but the sharpness of Lalli’s features was what sold the character as a noble character of the story; a noble, in a sense, that he was an aristocrat, supposed to be swathed with layers of velvet, silk, and golden threads. But _no_ , this simple clothed Lalli drew attention with his graceful form, limbs lined with subtle muscle that held the strength to hold a full-grown person. The regal air Lalli held was breathtaking.

 _And Lalli was a great actor_.

He brought up his arms gracefully, gesturing here and there with an arc that could resemble the movements of a swan, but the open delight on his face was what sold to Emil that Lalli appeared like an angel. The small grin on Lalli’s face was tentative, and glowing with a subtle joy, Emil was nearly fooled by his acting. But whether or not Lalli was acting, _this_ was where Lalli shined. He belonged there, on stage, movements full of spirit, conveying what words could never convey.

Emil swallowed a lump in his throat, a warm ball of pride threading itself into his chest until he felt the weight of it settle like a warm blanket, wrapping around his body. Lalli’s grey blue eyes glowed under the bright lights, and it could’ve been the trick of the light, but Emil felt like Lalli stared straight at him, as he smiled and threw his head back gracefully, ashen blonde hair bouncing like silk and creating a halo that Emil wished he could mimic onto a canvas.

“Hotakainen looks amazing.” He heard someone whisper, and Emil would’ve beamed in pride, if only Lalli hadn’t moved from his spot, and began to take off the large fur coat. With it, came the belt, and the sword, and Lalli, now looked even less like a duke, as he handed his clothes to the squire. He looked more like a village boy—as was intended, but the sheer simplicity of what he wore revealed the subtle muscle on Lalli’s arms, and every curve and edge of his body. Every small, minute detail that Emil had already seen and felt with his own hands, somehow looked different once again, under the bright lights. Emil’s fingers itched for a pen to sketch down Lalli’s form, wishing to trace it all from life, and ingrain it to memory.

Then, the following dances occurred, as Lalli danced with the woman playing Giselle. Lalli performed amazing feats, some Emil had seen, some Emil thought that he already did. The extensions of his legs, high in the air; the strength of his leaps, and the amount of air time he had that nearly seemed inhuman. As if gravity was not a force that pulled him down. Emil had his own art form, that depicted how he saw the world.

This was Lalli’s, and to Emil, it was absolutely _beautiful._

As Lalli raised Giselle up, Emil noticed the sweat beading down the expanse of Lalli’s revealed chest, glittering like stars under the light. Emil wished he was close enough to be able to touch him there, but Emil was content that he’d have a chance later. When Lalli leaned back against the door on one of the set pieces, head thrown back in a quiet glow of joy ( _from his character meeting Giselle and courting her_ ), the sweat on his arms and chest seemed more apparent than before. They appeared like smatterings of dust on a pavement. Emil released a heavy breath. He had probably seen even more flattering sights of Lalli than anybody has ever seen, but it never took away from such a silent, _damning_ sight.

Emil wished he could wrap Lalli up in his coat, and kiss him underneath the shelter of the dark.

But Emil held on, and kept watching his boyfriend till the end of the night.

* * *

When the night finally ended, Lalli felt drained, from thanking the live audience, to being busy with after care; parting from his colleagues, and dealing with a mob of people who wanted his autograph and some photos with him. He felt lucky though, to have escaped early from their terrifying grasp, though it was all in good intentions. Yet, despite the exhaustion, Lalli felt light and content. He felt like a wandering cloud, floating and limbless; disembodied from the physical world. The liveliness of the applause at the end of the second act had made his heart burst with pride and joy. When the curtains closed briefly, and he took his place center stage with his colleague, who played Giselle, he felt as if he had been born for that single moment, as applause and cheers were aimed at them. At his effort. _At his art_.

When he paused, and his eyes rested forward into the crowd, and met dark blue eyes shadowed beyond the lights of the stage, he was right. _He was meant for this moment._ To have Emil there, silently supporting him, like gravity pulling him down to earth, grounding his feet in its sweet existence. All the effort, and pain, and difficulties Lalli had endured was worth it; Emil’s proud, joyful gaze spoke far louder than the cheers his grandmother Ensi had told him about.

_The applause never spoke louder than when Emil looked at him like that._

Lalli would steal the light of the moon, and toss the sea into the endlessness of space, if he could just have Emil there forever, being his rock and his gravity. And Lalli knew well enough, that Emil thought of him as much, in the same conviction. They worked that way, like tides that pushed and pulled to the shore, tethered in the mere motion of the world, forever changing, forever _not_.

It is in the bleak cold of November that Lalli earns this epiphany, after his cousins and Emil help him escape from the paparazzi. Lalli is understandably tired, but the excitement of the night still buzzed in his veins like a high. Emil had an arm wrapped around him, fingers finding purchase onto his waist, where Lalli was pretty sure there should’ve been marks there for how many times Emil loved putting his hands at that very same spot.

Emil chuckled as Lalli briefly closed his eyes, basking in the warmth the golden-haired man emitted. “Tired?”

Lalli only nodded, hands burrowing deeper into his parka as his head nuzzled itself into the juncture of Emil’s neck, trying to steal as much warmth as he could. Lalli felt Emil rub his chin back on top of his head playfully, and Lalli huffed, one hand escaping his parka and swatting Emil on the head. Emil chuckled, untangling his arm to fetch the keys of their car, fingers patting Lalli’s hair into place in passing.

When they were in the safety of their car, Lalli leaned into the warm heat exiting the vents. A sudden thought came to Lalli, and it was rare that Lalli felt conscious about his skills and his appearance, because he had built years of fake confidence to finally believe in his capabilities. But with Emil, the world was tilted differently, spinning on another axis—charted in a territory undefined and unmapped. _But they always enjoyed the journey on the way._

Lalli glanced at Emil, who was peeling out of the road, driving down the streets beginning to be covered in snow. Lalli, breathed out.

“Did I do good?” Emil made a sound, not peeling his eyes away from the road. That was good at least, because it made it easier a bit for Lalli to know he wasn’t staring at him. That, plus eyes off the road was dangerous, and Lalli would’ve hit Emil if he looked at him in the passenger’s seat.

“What, Lalli?”

Lalli sighed in annoyance, before asking once more, to which Emil paused in thought, and Lalli began to think the worse. It wasn’t good when Emil was silent. Did Emil not think Lalli was good enough? Did Lalli not paint a beautiful picture enough for him on stage? Lalli wanted to lash out in anger, but he held his tongue, especially when they stopped at a red light at an intersection.

A warm hand, nearly hot in its touch slipped in between Lalli’s long fingers. Lalli squeezed back, raising his eyes to meet Emil’s. The copper light of a nearby streetlight painted Emil in beams of orange and red, alight like fire, and eyes like smoldering embers that Lalli never knew Emil’s stark blue eyes could do. “You were _amazing_ , Lalli.” Emil said so tenderly and soft, like the “ _I love you’s_ ” he would whisper in the morning. Emil knew Lalli, and he knew Lalli needed the words at the moment. He _wanted_ them, and if Emil was anything, Emil was _eager to deliver._

Lalli lapped up the words like golden honey, and let the words wash over him in soft brushes over his beating heart. His heartbeat sped up audibly in his own ears, as Emil brought Lalli’s hand closer to his face.

“You were _spectacular_.” The hairs on the back of Lalli’s neck stood up, when Emil brushed his lips over his knuckles.

“You were _magnificent_.” He perpetuated the word with a kiss to the back of his hand. Lalli breathed through his nose, toes curling within his shoes as he watched Emil in the copper light of Moscow.

“You were _beautiful_.” A short, tender one at the tips of his fingers. Lalli shivered as Emil’s breath fanned over the skin there. He could feel himself beginning to fill with heat; a dancing fire blazing down his spine, pooling into his stomach.

Lalli felt the need to ask, “Were?” He was surprised at his own voice; velvety and strong, with the undertones of a rumbling lynx, eyeing Emil with nothing but a need that could only be dealt by the man who he needed. “What about _now_ , Emil? What am I _now_?” It was a challenge. _A dare._

The lights blazed green overhead, and Emil turned Lalli’s hand over, and kissed the center of his palm, engraving his lips there, along with his words. “All the things I said you were?—you _are._ Always have been. _Always will be._ ”

Lalli exhaled, feeling alive and almost predatory as he gazed at Emil, who used one hand to continue down the road, refusing to let the hand he had kissed, fall away from his grasp. Lalli had never had a car ride drive by so fast, yet so slow. Their apartment came into view, and Lalli and Emil practically ran over the steps and jumped into the elevator that lead up to their floor, but they didn’t wait.

After pushing the button for the eleventh floor, Emil pulled Lalli by the same hand he had kissed and let his lips graze over Lalli’s. The subtle intimate touch was enough to draw a soft rumble from Lalli’s throat. Being slightly taller, Lalli pushed Emil by his bicep, and Emil suddenly found himself pushed against the elevator wall, Lalli hovering over him in a stark image of shadows and light, Emil wished he could trap the image in a canvas, and frame it for eternity. _Scratch that, he would do it later._

“Not tired anymore?” Emil joked, but Lalli simply narrowed his eyes. The minute expression created such a juxtaposition to the character Lalli had been playing on stage, that Emil drew a breath from contradicting images in his head. _This was the real Lalli no one knew, but Emil._ Unbound, sharp, and dangerous, with a softness that only Emil could find ( _and push, and break in the most loveliest of ways_ ).

“What made you think I’d be exhausted after what you said?” Lalli’s voice was sibilant and threatening, and it made Emil curl his hands into Lalli’s waist, making him breathe deep. Lalli brought one hand close to Emil’s face, cupping it with tenderness, brushing hair away from his cheeks. Lalli kissed him on the lips, mouth closed, but pressing insistently in a tease, as Emil just _wished_ for him to open them. Lalli parted from Emil’s lips, and said, “Messy Swede.”

Emil breathed out a laugh at the reminiscent nickname, before pressing into Lalli’s body, letting the professional dancer know just _what_ Lalli was making him feel. “I’ll show you a messy Swede, Lalli.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you loved this!!!!! I'm a coward at writing smut, I'm sorry. 
> 
> So, if you couldn't tell, Lalli played the lead man of the Ballet, as Duke Albrecht. 
> 
> I've been part of Theater before, but I was more into Musicals and Theater Plays, as those were my forte, but I only had a few classes, so my knowledge on the stage and the performances are either rusty, or I have forgotten them. I would say a lot more things, but ask away if you have questions, or leave any comments if you have any!!!! I was legit in a hurry to publish this for Liv!!!! She absolutely inspired me to just GO OFF!!!
> 
> <333


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